Interrogation
by Pilleriin
Summary: DSI Boyd is in the interview room with a suspect, doing what he does best.


**Interrogation.**

''Why does it have to be so hot and close here?! So uncomfortable!'', the woman sitting on opposite side of the table complains, scowling at him.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the room temperature, nor ventilation, as far as DSI Boyd is concerned. Nor does he mind the dim lighting and ascetic furniture. Even the surrounding solid concrete walls that might feel oppressive for someone with guilty conscience work in his favour, helping to squeeze the truth out of the wicked and deceitful.

After all - why on earth should police interview rooms be _comfortable!?_ This isn't a place one comes to spend time and enjoy oneself. People are brought here for a reason, and in most cases they have to blame themselves for creating such reason. That's why they're all sweating in here.

The woman he's brought here on this late afternoon hasn't got anyone but herself to blame for ending up like that either. And Boyd certainly doesn't fall for the deceptively gentle façade, the lovely smile and big blue eyes. He knows well what brutal things the delicate fingers - the ones that right now are coquettishly unfastening the collar button of her blouse - have done. And _even_ _if_ she's feeling that hot, the following button is definitely too much already. Not that he doesn't realise the deep design of it. Nice try, but such dirty feminine tricks prove ineffective in distracting Peter Boyd from his pursuit of truth and justice. He determinedly holds his gaze above the actually very attractive cleavage.

''Any chance of getting a class of water? Please, officer...?'', she allures next, the tip of her tongue moving across the lips thirstily.

''You could have a cup of coffee even, but only if you were a little bit more co-operative,'' he remarks sternly.  
Enduring some minor inconveniences is well-deserved, considering what inhuman way this ruthless woman treated her unfortunate victim.

The response is a defiant pout.

Nothing surprising in her resentful reaction actually, considering she clearly didn't expect to get caught at all.  
All the chances were her hideous crime would have stayed unrevealed - the garbage bins were to be emptied in just a few hours time and after that nothing could have been proved any more. It would have easily become yet another unsolved case of unexplainable vanishing, haunting him for years to come.

It was Boyd's own suspicious mind, some deep-rooted policeman instinct that made him go and check why one of the lids wasn't properly closed, resulting in most shocking discovery.

And now his prime suspect has had some time to reconsider her tactics, obviously counting on her superior intelligence to outsmart the 'dumb copper' and still squirm out of it all.  
Shrewd and seductive - Boyd hasn't had such dangerous combination in his interview room for quite a while. Therefore he has no illusions - all signs are it's going to take considerable effort and considerable time to get results. Any results.  
That's all right, DSI Boyd loves challenges.

''Let's return to the events of last evening,'' he firmly leads the interview back to it's tracks, ''concentrating on the time-frame between 6.30 and 10.30 P.M.''

''For heaven's sake...!'', the dramatic roll of eyes is followed by an obstinate, ''How many _bloody_ times do I have to _repeat_ it all over?!''

''Please indulge me once more.''

She gives a plaintive groan, but starts nevertheless.

''As you _have heard_ before, I first made myself a cup of tea and a sandwich in the kitchen, then watched TV in the living-room for a while. The 7 o'clock news were followed by some lame soap opera, so I turned the damned thing off and went upstairs to read a book. And that's what I did until falling asleep. It was a _very_ interesting book, by the way, a murder mystery. I can give you a quick synopsis of the plot if you like.''

''And at some point during the evening you put aside that _most engaging_ murder mystery and returned downstairs to settle scores with your own victim,'' Boyd holds his own.

''That's an hostile speculation!'', the aggrieved protest is instant.

''Not quite as hostile as your own long-time unconcealed attitude towards the victim, not to mention your numerous malicious 'I'll do something about it myself' threats,'' Boyd remains imperturbable. ''I'd call that a strong motive.''

''I'd call what's going on here right now police harassment!'' she bites back. ''There's freedom of opinion in this country, isn't it. No-one can be charged for a few critical words only'', gets reminded to him accusingly. ''You're so keen to lay the blame on me, at the same time having no evidence whatsoever to support your preposterous theories.''

Boyd smirks at that. ''Don't dream I won't have the kitchen scissors tested for your fingerprints.''

'' _Kitchen ...scissors_...?'' she repeats in wide-eyed incredulity. ''I'm not entirely sure I know what _these_ are,'' she gives a head-shake and a disdainful snort, ''furthermore where such weird things might be kept...''

''Apparently not,'' Boyd remarks, allowing himself a little sarcasm, ''Otherwise you would have returned them to the _upper drawer_ after finishing your butcher job _,_ instead of leaving them lying on the counter. And I bet quite a few tell-tale blue threads are still to be found somewhere as well. I'll ask Dr. Lockhart to have a go with the entire house.''

The response is a sneering, ''Well, good luck with that for the both of you then!''  
Such haughty confidence clearly proves she must have taken precautions to hide the traces.

''And even if you _have_ cleaned everything up _inside_ the house, '' Boyd continues, ''You still had to go outside to get rid of the bag with the remains of the victim. There's a good chance someone witnessed your trip to the bins. The street is rather busy in the evenings, not to mention it being a neighbourhood watch area,'' he points out. ''I have no doubt questioning the neighbours will be informative and prolific.''

As if not realising her precarious position at all, the suspect seems to find it all very amusing.  
''If I were you, I'd start with the two scrawny tomcats that keep sneaking around the bins all the time,'' her suggestion comes through chuckles, ''They'd willingly send anyone to the gallows for a can of tuna!''

Boyd leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and grins indulgently, allowing his opponent a brief moment to enjoy her last laugh before playing his trump card.

''You know what's really funny about it all?'' he inquires, his smile turning devilish, ''True fun lies in the fact that I don't have to see any trouble at all to prove your guilt. There's a good and reliable CCTV camera on the wall of the neighbouring house, and as it happens, it perfectly covers the area in question as well. I paid a visit to the owner of that house in the morning, and he most willingly provided me with last night's footage. Try to guess whom I saw on that tape - fearlessly and carelessly stuffing a suspicious-looking plastic bag in the bin, blissfully unaware of her actions being filmed. We can re-watch it together, if you like, it's quite easy to arrange...''

The inaudible phrase her lips are forming isn't exactly lady-like.

''Sorry, I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that,'' Boyd just can't help himself. He turns his ear towards her demonstratively, ''You were saying...?''

''Nothing!'' a tense smile stubbornly returns to her face, but there is a discernible crack in the so far solid defiance and denial already.

''How's it going to be then?'', he demands impatiently, ''Shall we continue wasting our time here, or...?''

The suspect shrugs obstinately, seemingly not willing to accept the defeat just yet.

Time to turn to the extreme measures then. Boyd doesn't say anything, doesn't even _do_ anything, just looks her straight in the eye. It's taken years to develop the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. By now his notorious stare has become a combination of x-ray and hypnosis, first penetrating through the layers of deception and denial, no matter how thick they are, and having reached the remnants of conscience buried underneath, creating an unbearable compulsion to clear it from all the dirty secrets.

This woman deserves some credit still for withstanding it surprisingly bravely, much longer than the toughest of felons.  
But the outcome still is predictable. The defiant but guilty blue eyes eventually surrender to the burning gaze of the righteous brown ones.

''All right... all right, I did it. I did it, OK!?,'' she blurts out nervously. As usual, the self-justification starts right away.  
''It was an act of mercy really - it's time on earth was long past already. It probably would have torn to pieces itself during the next juvenile joyride in your precious frog-eyed friend. And let's be honest – it's high time you accepted your true age instead of cherishing the unrealistic hope that wearing some ridiculous relic would make you 25 again,'' she continues admonishingly, adding the reproachful, '' _Grow up_ for god's sake!''

He's done it again. Solved the case, found the culprit. It's still some consolation, though a cold one, so he sums it all up in his habitual way.

''Would you please confirm it loud and clear for the record – did you, Grace Foley, take the denim jacket - which despite being a bit threadbare, still was of priceless emotional value and therefore irreplaceable to it's rightful owner-, from the wardrobe and cut it into shreds in most brutal way, using plain kitchen scissors as murder weapon. After that you stuffed what was left of your victim into a plastic bag and dumped in a garbage bin, expecting the bins to be emptied the next morning so your hideous crime would remain undiscovered. And this cold-blooded and pre-meditated murder you committed, taking advantage of the fact that the above mentioned rightful owner was engaged with work duties and therefore couldn't defend his property.''

''Is there any hope for leniency if I say 'yes' and 'I'm sorry' now?'' Grace wants to know, tilting her head, sly smile back on her face.

''That's up to the court to decide,'' Boyd returns relentlessly. ''Considering the gravity of your crime, the trial is scheduled for tonight already. 8 o'clock sharp, I believe the address in Greenwich to be familiar to you. I strongly recommend to show up voluntarily and in time, otherwise we have to take you there in handcuffs.''

''So soon...'' For once she does look a bit worried. ''The thing is that... I don't have much experience with things like that... For example what should one wear for such occasion?''

''I can't list myself as an expert on women's outfit,'' Boyd remains modest, ''but it's always good to follow the _less is more_ principle...''

''Is that so?! I'll keep that in mind then!'', she exclaims happily, endowing him with a bedazzling smile, leaning towards him across the table,''Thanks for the good tip _officer_!''

She closes up even more, and Boyd's lips part almost on their own accord in order to receive the kiss that's seemingly on it's way.  
Just a moment before their faces could actually touch, Grace withdraws her head abruptly, wickedly smirking at Boyd's disappointed expression.

''Sorry _officer_ , but I really have to save myself for later. I may have to bribe the _judge_ to ensure a more favourable verdict _,_ you see,'' she justifies herself. ''In fact I'm in a bit of a hurry now, have to go and prepare myself for the coming ordeals.''

She doesn't leave just yet, but takes a moment to button her blouse up decently, and Boyd can't help wondering how Grace can possibly manage to do it in much more erotic way than many other women do stripping.  
It also puzzles him that despite seeing her walk around in the squad-room all day long, he completely failed to notice how perfectly that tight dark skirt she's wearing actually embraces her hips and...

He doesn't miss any of it now, greedily following Grace with his eyes, as she walks out of the interview room.

The room temperature seems to have mysteriously risen all of a sudden, the heat almost making him struggle for breath.

Even DSI Boyd could do with a glass of cold water right now. Or a cold shower rather, considering there'll still be a few good hours till 8 o'clock...


End file.
